


Talented Liar

by Lupiza



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupiza/pseuds/Lupiza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki was surprised, the first time he realised how often he lied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talented Liar

Loki was surprised, the first time he realised how often he lied. It was always little things – how was he doing? Fine, he'd say, even if he wasn't, because that was expected and polite. Everyone did that. No one wanted to hear how Odin's smile had lingered on Thor for longer when they'd presented their latest accomplishments, because it was a small thing, a silly thing, and would be forgotten if no one made a fuss over it. Loki didn't like making a fuss even as a child - there was just something very undignified about it. Thor was loud and blundered around making a mess, and Loki just disapproved from a distance, feeling sure his parents disapproved as well. And they did, mostly, but never said it, so Loki chose not to say it either, and when Thor had one of his rare fits of perceptiveness and would collapse into the seat beside his brother and demand to know if something was wrong, Loki would just look at him and say, "No."

Soon it was habit to say what everyone wanted to hear – that he was fine, that he was happy, that he wasn't bothered by the taunts of other children when he failed to be the kind of great warrior Asgard expected of its prince. He left so much out that other things had to be said to fill the spaces, so he told them things that could be true, to see if they would become so, things that were half true, to keep them from asking more, things that were surprising, to make them think from the angle he wanted them to, and things which were absurd, to make them laugh. It was a surprise to find he could make them laugh. 

Loki's talent for humour grew slowly, and his parents were happy to see their solemn little boy grow into an engaging and witty man. His sarcasm, when obvious, was dry and affectionate – when masked, it was impossible to tell. His shift from wordplay to practical jokes was quiet, and only came about when he found he knew just what to say to make someone do something without them ever knowing it. It was fun, he found, twisting people up in their own assumptions until Thor thought Fandral had seduced his lady and Volstagg thought Hogun had eaten his pheasant while Sif was the one with the stolen bird on her plate and had no idea what the problem was. All the while, Loki would just sit there quietly, eating delicately, and innocently ask why Fandral had a larger share of meat, and if few ever realised he was the cause of so many troubles, well, Loki never received much credit for anything in the first place. He told himself all the best laughs were private, anyway. 

At first he used magical nudges only when necessary, or if the joke was too elaborate to pull off without them. Usually things would be ruined if anyone realised he had a hand in them, for then they'd forget all their doubts about each other and turn on him. When some were revealed and he couldn't make excuses, he chose to smile and surprised them and shared the joke, and in those moments Thor loved him. 

Sometimes they would ask him for help, those who called themselves his friends. Thor's friends were glad of his magic when it helped them, and said they approved when it did not. His sense of humour they liked all the time, and so he showed it, and Thor declared that he had the best brother in all the Nine Realms. When Thor was feeling playful and wanted to trick Hogun, he would ask his brother to deliver the lie he needed with a completely straight face, and they laughed together when it worked. When he was feeling competitive and wanted to best Fandral, he had Loki spread word that a maiden even more beautiful than Freyja was coming to meet Asgard's first-born prince. When he was feeling brave and wished to tease Sif, it was Loki who was sent to wrap himself in shadows and steal her shield or vambrace or boots.

The haircut was his idea. Thor very nearly got the blame.

His parents indulged him, and they laughed as much as he did at the jokes that came to light. They loved him, loved seeing him happy. They saw no harm in his tricks and games and as long as nothing too troublesome came of it, they encouraged it, sometimes even helped. Loki found a warm satisfaction in letting his mother in on his tricks, and she would always watch with a polite smile and a twinkle in her eye when Volstagg's dinner plate mysteriously emptied itself or when Thor's new cape was somehow too long. Even the more risky ones, the ones that frightened her before she knew they were jests, were forgiven with a roll of the eyes and an exasperated smile. 

And Odin's stifled chuckles when Loki came home as a woman with Thor dressed as a bride were more than worth the icy knot that had sat in his belly all through their trip to Jötunheimr to retrieve Mjölnir.

Mjölnir was the cause of many lies, few of them his. Mjölnir was the reason all of Asgard knew that Thor would be king even if they said aloud that the matter was undecided, even if _Odin_ said the matter was undecided. They all knew. They all knew Loki was the inferior son, unworthy of the throne, of Hliðskjálf. They all knew it had nothing to do with age and everything to do with might and charisma, with broad grins and battle trophies. They all knew the sons were unequal and Loki knew better, and Frigga knew better and Odin knew better, but no one knew better and so Mjölnir went to Thor anyway. Loki didn't want it. He never had. He had never expected to be king and it wouldn't have suited him. Thor would be a good king. Thor would grow up, grow into it. His parents loved him anyway. Both of them. Equally. They were loved and respected princes of Asgard, and they were good and strong and worthy and there were too many lies to keep track of.

Then he started to notice when something he'd said was completely true, and that was startling too. It happened so rarely, he started to wonder what was wrong – and whether that wrongness was with himself in general or the why of that moment, he never did work out. But it was easier, and simpler, to choose to continue the lies that he'd spun for years then to ask his family to understand why he'd said them in the first place. He wasn't sure himself. 

It wasn't so bad, he told himself, this life he lived. He was respected, if not loved, and he was a prince, if not king. He needed neither love nor a throne. He had his family, and that was enough. He needed no crowd of friends, no band of sworn blood-brothers to fight at his side; he had no need to fight every day, either. He considered battles a necessary evil and ended them as quickly as possible, by any means necessary. If he fought better from a distance, with throwing knives and magic than with hammer or sword, and he ended battles all the faster... They weren't tricks. They were talents, regardless of how under-appreciated. Even if magic was a woman's tool, if he was less manly for choosing it. He'd saved people. He'd saved his brother, several times. Was he ever acknowledged?

But it wasn't so bad, he decided. It wasn't so bad. He didn't need acknowledgement.

Then some truth began to seep back into the lies, and that surprised him even more. He _didn't_ need acknowledgement; he could function fine alone. He didn't need a throne, just the knowledge that he could have been king if he'd wanted. He didn't need to be brash and loud and wrestle in the dirt of the training ring because he could best them all if not for the strict rule against magical attacks. In a real battle, he'd have the advantage. And he believed these things because they were true, yet not true, and yet true as much as it would ever matter, and because there was nothing else to believe.

And when it all came crashing down, when he wasn't the only liar and his whole life was a lie and his lies were _nothing_ in comparison, when his father was only using him and his father was _Laufey_ and all the fun was gone and it was just hurt, hurt, hurt... then he told himself truths that were lies and told others lies that were truths. Real truth had ceased to matter – who was to say what was 'true', anyway? Was it true that he and Thor were equals – by blood, on the battlefield, in their parents' eyes? Was it true that Thor would be an idiot king now, or if he'd been changed by that woman? Was it true that he'd sent the Destroyer to kill his brother, or just to stop him, as he'd said? Was there a difference? Had he known – had he cared?

Did it matter?

And when Thor was staring at him and calling him a liar and had to know _why_ , did it matter if what he said was a true lie or a lying truth? Thor was looking at him, finally _looking at him_ , seeing his brother as he'd never bothered to before, and Loki _drank_ the attention. He craved it, needed it, and all his life he'd lied about needing it. He needed to be seen, to be loved, to be a worthy son to Odin All-liar. He needed but could not have and now he had nothing – no love, no respect, no title, no crown. No blood. No family. No friends. He was the monster of bedtime stories and a foundling they should never have saved. He was nothing, nothing, nothing... 

So he fought with his feet and fought with his fists because they were _there_ and _real_ and he could feel the aches and pains and he laughed as he cried and struck Thor as he screamed. He needed to reach and touch and strike and _hurt_ because magic was too cold, too far, too Jötunn. He needed to run and spin and kick and punch, to tackle and wrestle with his brother – he needed the chance to lose. Dignity meant nothing. Humour meant nothing. Family meant nothing. He was nothing.

And there was so little left and so little to fill the spaces, nothing but words like _Jötunn_ and _enemy_ and _villain_ , and there was nothing to do but fill the part, play the role, for if he was nothing and had nothing and did nothing he would fade and vanish in this darkness, in the spaces between the stars where nothing stayed and nothing left. He was lost and worthless and hated but he was not ready to die, and so he hung on to the few scraps he had until his nails tore and the scraps tore and they were only pieces of the lying truths and truthful lies, and they meant less than when he'd started. 

_I was a king. The rightful king of Asgard. Betrayed._

Things shouldn't have been this way, but they were always this way, and he'd never seen it as choices were taken from him, futures promised that would never be. They had told him he was loved, beloved, a son. They had told him he was a prince, could be king, and that he could do anything with his talents. They'd told him he was wanted, that he had only to ask to have anything. They'd told him he was of Asgard. 

There was only one lie – the promise of freedom. It was always going to be like this, and what a fool he'd been to think otherwise. 

Freedom is life's great lie. 

But what good are lies without truth?


End file.
